Meltdown in Christmas River

by Meg Muldoon

  But maybe she was getting softer in her old age.

  I wiped away another bead of sweat that was starting to trickle down the side of my face. The flannel dress and knee-high boots I’d worn for the occasion now seemed like a bad choice.

  I glanced across the room at the long line snaking away from my pie table. Even though I’d been working my fingers down to the bone, the line was just as long as it had been two hours earlier when the pub opened its doors.

  I was flattered that people thought so highly of my pie – if not exhausted.

  “Santa’s Florida Vacation Pie? What a clever name. What’s in it?”

  Though I had never met her in person, I easily recognized the next woman in line from the picture on the back of her internationally bestselling book, What the Mountain Took.

  Pam Dallas was dressed in an iceberg-blue North Face jacket, and her jeans were tucked into a pair of serious-looking snow boots. Her graying hair was braided off to the side in a style that was a little young for her forty-something years, but that she managed to pull off well.

  “The pie has…” I stammered, my voice coming out barely above a squeak.

  I felt some butterflies flap around in my gut.

  I hadn’t had much experience meeting celebrities. Cliff Copperstone, the celebrity chef from the Chocolate Championship last year, was about the only one I’d ever met.

  I cleared my throat and got a hold, reminding myself that Pam was no different than any other person here – she’d just been on more national talk shows.

  “The, uh, the Santa’s Florida Vacation Pie is one of our bestsellers,” I said, brushing away another drop of sweat from my temple. “It starts with a heavenly butter crust, followed by a layer of luxurious white chocolate cream, then a layer of silky key lime curd. Then it’s topped off with a tart sauce made from fresh cranberries grown near the Oregon Coast. All of it makes for a delicious, celebratory pie that would please even the staunchest curmudgeon.”

  Pam raised her thin eyebrows.

  “Wow… Well in that case, I’ll take two for tomorrow’s critique session,” she said. “Did anybody ever tell you that you could be a restaurant reviewer? I can almost taste the pie from that description.”

  I collected two pastry boxes and placed them in a large paper bag.

  “I’m afraid I can’t spell worth a lick, but thanks for the compliment,” I said, sliding the pies across to her. “You know, I’m sure you get this all the time – but I just loved What the Mountain Took. It was such a moving story.”

  Truth be told, I didn’t have much time for reading in my life. But after coming across it a few years ago, Pam’s bestseller had become one of my favorite books ever. It was a fictional story about a husband and wife climbing K2 together and getting trapped in a deadly snowstorm. The book was based on Pam’s own experience of climbing the same mountain with her husband. In real life, the pair had been caught in the worst storm to hit in a decade, and Pam’s husband died from hypothermia after sacrificing his jacket to keep Pam alive.

  The book mirrored her harrowing experience and was beautifully written. The fact that Pam had lived through the disaster and come out the other side with such courage touched readers across the globe.

  Pam smiled bashfully at my compliment, then fished around in the pocket of her jacket, pulling out two crisp twenty dollar bills.

  “People do tell me how much they love my book a lot, but you know? I never get tired of hearing it.”

  I laughed and she handed the money to me.

  “I heard they were making a movie out of the book. Is that true?” I asked.

  Old Gertrude Baxter, who was standing next in line, cleared her throat loudly – just in case I had forgotten she was there.

  “Yes, it is being adapted for the screen,” Pam said, grabbing the paper bag. “They’re wrapping up the shooting now, and the movie’s set to come out in theaters next year.”

  “I can’t wait to see it,” I said. “I hardly ever go to movie theaters anymore, but I’ll be there opening day for that one.”

  I wondered if maybe I was laying it on a little thick, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.

  Pam nodded graciously and turned to leave.

  For a second, I had the urge to do something crazy like ask for an autograph or a picture with her.

  But the look on Gertrude’s face as she stepped up to take Pam’s place sent any notion of that right out of my head.

  Old Gertrude was fuming like a bull in a poppy field.

  Chapter 16

  “I’ve been waiting in this line half an hour already,” Gertrude said, tossing her purse down dramatically on the small table and nearly knocking over a stack of pies. “Do they pay you to dish out pies or to chit-chat?”

  “They don’t pay me at all,” I said. “Now what can I get you?”

  I tried not to take it too personally. Gertrude was, after all, getting up there in age. I was sure standing in line so long wasn’t too easy on her knees.

  Plus, I was in a good mood. I’d just met Pam Dallas, and with the way these pies were going, nobody in Pohly County was going to go hungry until the summer.

  “Give me one of them Christmas Flynn pies,” Gertrude said, nodding. “And a Pumpkin Gingersnap. Benjy won’t forgive me if I don’t come home with a Pumpkin Gingersnap.”

  I nodded silently, trying to ignore that there was no ‘please’ in her request. I grabbed two boxes of the flavors she’d requested and traded her for a wrinkled bill.

  I suddenly sensed that somebody was standing behind me.

  “There’s something I’ve got to talk to you about, Mrs. Brightman,” he said quietly. “It’s a matter of some urgency.”

  I couldn’t help but break out in goosebumps.

  They were the good kind, though.

  “I’d love to help, Sheriff, but I’ve got a line full of people demanding pie on my hands.”

  “I’m sure they can wait five minutes. Patience is a virtue, and people in small towns are supposed to be full of goodness and virtue—”

  “Ahem!”

  Gertrude, full of huff, stretched her hand out toward me and rubbed her fingers together.

  I stared at her for a second, confused.

  “My change?” she said.

  I gazed down at the $50 bill in my hand.

  “Oh… sorry,” I said, going into the cash drawer, pulling out a ten and quickly handing it to her.

  “Distraction, dear, is the enemy of all productivity,” she said.

  She gave me one final glare and then was on her way, weaving through the crowd with her pies.

  I looked back at Daniel. He was cracking up.

  “There you go getting me into trouble again, Sheriff,” I said under my breath, smiling at the next person in line – a tall woman who I recognized as being part of the writing group. “My grandfather warned me about associating with troublemakers like you.”

  “Guess you didn’t think much of his advice seeing as how you married me. But seriously, I’ve got to talk to you, Cin. Meet me out back in five?”

  “Sheriff, I really can’t—”

  “Good. I’ll be waiting.”

  He brushed past me, doing some weaving of his own through the dancing crowd.

  I stared at the long line, holding in a big sigh as another trickle of sweat streamed down my face.

  Chapter 17

  I stepped outside into the frosty, windy night, taking in a big breath of fresh air.

  Even though I hadn’t had anything to drink yet, I felt like I had. The crowded environment of the pub, with everybody yelling over the music, laughing, dancing, and having a good time, had sent me spinning. A few times, I’d even felt a little faint.

  It was probably good to take a break. I’d asked Aileen to man the pie station for a few minutes and—

  “I was beginning to worry the line had swallowed you whole.”

  “Almost did,” I said. “Things are getting crazy in there.”

&n
bsp; Daniel stepped out from the shadows and into the lights spilling from the windows. He smelled good – like fresh pines in the snow.

  “Warren told me you had a close call in the street earlier. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just a rude driver short on Christmas spirit.”

  “You want me to take over in there for you?” Daniel asked. “I mean, I don’t claim to be proficient in pie speak, but I suppose I can take money and hand out boxes if it came down to it.”

  I shook my head.

  “Thanks, but we need you to keep pouring beer. We’re almost out of pie anyway.”

  I stared up into his eyes. Silent flakes of snow began tumbling down harder from the sky.

  “So what’s this urgent matter you wanted to see me about, Sheriff?”

  “It looks like somebody lodged a complaint, Mrs. Brightman.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “What? Who?”

  “Can’t reveal my witness,” he said. “But this person had some very choice things to say regarding your pies.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, unsure whether he was teasing or not.

  He looked deathly serious.

  “Daniel Brightman, if this is a joke, then just tell me—”

  “Nope, it’s no joke.”

  He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his Sheriff’s Office-issued notepad.

  Then he cleared his throat.

  “The person lodging the complaint had this to say about you—”

  He paused, looking from his notepad to me.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this—”

  “What, Daniel? What did they say?”

  Quality and consistency were things I prided myself in when it came to my pies, but I’d made so many in the last 24 hours for the event, maybe I’d mismeasured the ingredients for a batch. Didn’t add enough sugar, or maybe added too much, or maybe too much thickener, or maybe not enough—

  “The aggrieved party said this: ‘Cinnamon ought to be locked away.’”

  He looked down at his notepad.

  “And the key should be thrown in the Christmas River.”

  I crossed my arms tighter against my chest.

  “And why is that?” I said in a shrill voice.

  Daniel looked like he was having trouble reading what he’d written on the notepad.

  “Oh there it is. They said: ‘Because her Krisp Kringle Chocolate Gingersnap Pie is so good, it’s criminal.’”

  A big, fat grin lit up Daniel’s face.

  “That’s a direct quote, Mrs. Brightman. A direct quote.”

  I shook my head and bit my lip, hitting him playfully, though it came out a little harder than I expected it to. Just at that moment, the back door creaked open. Bethany Reid, a bartender at The Pine Needle Tavern, stepped out, followed by her boyfriend, Spencer, who had a pack of cigarettes in his hand.

  When she saw me sparring with my husband, she gave me a shocked look.

  I stopped, dropping my hands sheepishly.

  Daniel tipped his hat at the young couple.

  “Sorry you had to see that folks,” he said. “Cinnamon acts out sometimes. It’s something we’re working on in marriage counseling.”

  “Hey!” I said, laughing and punching him playfully again.

  But Bethany and her boyfriend didn’t seem to see the humor in it. Spencer cleared his throat awkwardly and then grabbed her hand, leading her back inside without saying a word.

  “I wonder what that was all about,” I said, watching the door slam.

  I didn’t know either of them that well, but I would have pegged them both to have a sense of humor.

  Daniel scratched his chin, looking deep in thought.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But people have been acting strange toward me all night. I’ve caught some of them looking at me funny. Made me think that I had a beer mustache going or something. But when I looked in the mirror, I just saw the same handsome devil I always see.”

  “Hmm. Well, vanity aside, maybe it is because you’re looking so good in your uniform tonight,” I said, resting my arms on his shoulders. “You’ve got the whole town star struck.”

  His cheeks glowed red.

  I didn’t think it was from the cold.

  “So what are we gonna do with this here complaint? I told the person who lodged it that I’d see justice served.”

  “And how are you gonna do that, Sheriff?”

  A faint smile crossed his face, his eyes rolling upwards to the sky for a moment.

  “Don’t know yet.”

  He kissed me softly.

  “But I’m sure I’ll think of something, Mrs. Brightman. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

  If I was lightheaded before, I was floating away by now.

  Daniel always did and always would have that effect on me.

  Chapter 18

  “Mrs. Brightman… you’ve always been so nice to me. You’ve always been so, so nice… You’re sweet. Just like your pies. Sweet, sweet, sweet…”

  Deputy Billy Jasper – a bear of a man – leaned hard on my shoulders, squeezing the wind right out of me.

  “I just want you to know… know that I appreciate your kindness,” he continued. “You look out for me. Like when I lost my bloodhound and you helped me get her back? You were nice about Shasta going missing. And I want you to know… I want you to know that it means… it means a lot—”

  Billy’s words came out thick and slurred, and he smelled like he’d been swimming in one of the brewery’s fermentation tanks all night.

  “Billy, you really don’t have to…”

  I trailed off as he leaned harder on me. His arm felt like a massive sinker log on my shoulders.

  “I just hope you like me, too. And that I haven’t been too much of a bothe—”

  He hiccupped loudly.

  “…bother these past few years.”

  I craned my neck from side to side, wondering what in the heck was taking Daniel so long. If he didn’t show up soon, his wife would be nothing but a smashed bug on the concrete.

  “I do like you, Billy,” I squeaked out. “Daniel does, too.”

  I looked over at him in the dim lights of the Christmas bulbs lining the brewpub’s exterior.

  His eyes were more glazed over than a box of Krispy Kreme donuts.

  The poor kid was going to be hurting bad tomorrow morning.

  Billy didn’t usually drink very much, so it was surprising when Daniel and I had found him outside the brewpub on a bench shortly after the festivities ended, slumped over and shivering. In fact, when I thought about it, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever seen Billy have as much as a single beer. I always thought it had to do with the fact that his mother was devoutly religious and had raised Billy that way, too.

  I gathered she wouldn’t be too pleased when she heard about this.

  I let out a long breath of air, shifting my weight between my legs, trying not to buckle under the pressure of his big frame.

  “I’m sorry to be like this—” he continued. “I don’t know what came over me tonight. I don’t usually drink, I…”

  “It’s okay, Billy. It’s easy to have too much of Warren and Aileen’s beer. It goes down too smooth sometimes.”

  Billy’s face broke out into an exaggerated smile. He started giggling like a school boy.

  In the distance, I heard the sound of tire studs crushing fresh powder.

  The sweet sound of relief.

  A few seconds later, Daniel pulled up to the curb. He put the truck in park and then got out quickly, coming around to save me.

  “C’mon, big guy,” Daniel said, sliding his arm under Billy’s and relieving me of my duty as a lamp post. “Let’s get you home.”

  “DQ…” Billy mumbled. “Not home. Not yet. I want an Oreo Blizzard.”

  Daniel glanced over at me, shaking his head slightly.

  He looked tired after an evening of serving up beer to the whole town. I could tel
l that taking his deputy to a fast food restaurant was the very last thing he wanted to do.

  “Well, it ain’t exactly ice cream weather, but fine. Dairy Queen it is, Billy.”

  Billy mumbled something that neither Daniel nor I could make out. We both helped him into the passenger’s seat of the truck.

  “You want to come along, Cin? There’s a bacon cheeseburger with your name on it if you want.”

  “Naw, I think I’ll pass. I want to help Warren and Aileen clean up here.”

  “Fine, then. But it’s your loss missing out on the company of such distinguished gentleman as Deputy Jasper here and myself.”

  Billy let out another high-pitched giggle.

  I bit my lip and shook my head.

  Goodness me, Billy was more toasted than a forgotten marshmallow over a campfire.

  “I’ll be home soon,” Daniel said. “Then we’ll put this night to rest with a nice warm fire and a foot rub. How’s that sound?”

  “Like heaven,” I said.

  Daniel climbed in the driver’s side.

  “You boys be careful out there.”

  Daniel winked at me.

  Billy began hiccupping again as they pulled away.

  Chapter 19

  “If you think you can get out of a foot rub so easily, you’ve got another thing coming, mister,” I mumbled, half asleep.

  He kissed the side of my neck. The tip of his nose was still freezing.

  “Sorry, Cin.”

  “What took you so long?” I asked, opening my eyes and glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

  It was nearly three in the morning.

  After helping Warren clean up – the old man was beside himself with the amount of money we’d raised for the food bank and was still counting it deep into the night – I’d come home. I’d changed into some PJs, fed the pooches a second dinner, and then lit a crackling fire in the bedroom fireplace. Then, I waited.